


call a cat a cat.

by CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Animal Transformation, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kitten Erik Stevens, M/M, Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball/pseuds/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball
Summary: Inspired by this beautiful piece of fanart.In an unforeseen turn of events, Erik Killmonger gets turned into a leopard cub.





	call a cat a cat.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/gifts).
  * Inspired by [This T'Cherik Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/381183) by ke0215. 



> If you read this and think "hey, usually this author's grammar and style is much crappier", then you are right!  
> This was betaed by the wonderful [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven) and you should all go and check out her gorgeous fics! She fought her way through my atrocious comma placement and I cannot thank her enough!
> 
> I would also like to thank [Arbor Mist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachy/pseuds/Arbor%20Mist) and ginfizz, as well as everyone else on the Golden Panther server. You guys are awesome, and you make my days.

 

_“No tears for me?” Erik’s Baba asks._

 

_Erik swallows, looks down at his hands. They’re small again, he’s eleven, once more. The apartment smells like Ajowan seeds, like the laundry detergent Mom preferred. Like sunshine through clean windows, tiny particles of dust that danced in the beams on Saturday mornings._

 

_“Everybody dies,” Erik says in his childhood voice. “That’s just life around here.”_

 

_“Well look at what I’ve done,” Baba’s voice breaks. “I should’ve taken you back long ago. Instead we are both abandoned here.”_

 

_“Or maybe your home’s the one’s that’s lost. That’s why they can’t find us.”_

 

_“But you have found them now,” N’Jobu smiles at him, bittersweet._

 

_“Yeah. I’m gonna end what you started. I promise, Baba.”_

 

_“This is my fault.” N’Jobu covers his eyes with his hands, his shoulders sag. The feeling that rises in Erik’s chest is equal parts angry and excruciating._

 

_“Not just your fault, my Prince.”_

 

_Uncle James stands next to Erik, out of nothingness, or like he was always there. His hand is heavy on Erik’s small shoulder, his robes billow out as he sits down._

 

_“N’Jobu. My Prince. My friend. It has been too long.”_

 

_“Not long enough.” N’Jobu says._

 

_Why isn’t Baba angry, why can’t Erik move? Gravity shackles him into his seated position. Uncle James and Baba exchange a long look._

 

_“What are you doing here?” Erik growls through gritted teeth._

 

_“I’m sorry, Erik. N’Jadaka.” Uncle James looks at him, soft and guilty, and Erik would give everything to move, to hit, to kill him again._

 

_“If you continue on the path you’re on, you’ll be here with me in less than two days,” Baba whispers, voice cracking._

 

_“For the sake of you and the sake of those that love you, the Goddess Bast has sent me here,” Uncle James says._

 

_“Everyone who loves me’s dead,” Erik replies coldly._

 

_“That is not how it works in the Djalia, my Prince,” Uncle James says. “Love is timeless here.”_

 

_“For the sake of everyone who has loved you, and everyone who will love you, the Goddess has placed a spell on you,” Baba says._

 

_And Uncle James smiles at him. “She will restore you when you find your place.”_

 

_“Fuck tha-”_

 

Erik wakes.

 

xXx

 

_“I must take the mantle back, I must.”_

 

T’Challa wakes in shivers, wakes into the arms of his family. Nakia, his mother, and Shuri don’t let go of him for a very long time. Everett smiles, and M’Baku sighs and rolls his eyes and winks at T’Challa. One of the Jabari guards approaches their Chief and whispers something in hurried Yoruba.

 

“Come with me. You have things to do,” M’Baku says.

 

In the Jabari throne room, they hear the different messengers from the Jabari borders.

 

“The flatlanders are in an uproar. Their council is running rampant.”

 

“The usurper King has got lost.”

 

“No, I heard he got killed by Bast’s priests.”

 

“He died when he drank the magic juice.”

 

Surprised at the worry in his heart, T’Challa leans back, arms crossed. His mother and sister are more decisive.

 

“My son. We must return at once!”

 

He thanks M’Baku, and invites him to the council. Shuri remotely hacks the closest fighter jet within reach. They return to Birnin Zana. They find utter chaos.

 

“My King!” Okoye’s face is pure relief.

 

The council looks shocked, W’Kabi like he is about to faint.

 

“He lives!”

 

“But how?”

 

“Glory to Bast-”

 

“But what does that mean for the challenge?”

 

T’Challa clears his throat.

 

“Could somebody please tell me what happened to my cousin?”

 

Awkward silence descends unto the council room.

 

The Mining Tribe Elder explains it, T’Challa blinks. Okoye gives a clipped, more detailed report. T’Challa opens his mouth, and closes it again.

 

“I don’t think they’re joking,” Shuri says helpfully.

 

“I assure you, we are not, my Princess,” Okoye replies, and presses her lips together.

 

“Ah,” says T’Challa.

 

The city of the dead is not as calm as it always has been. The priests and acolytes whisper. Zuri’s successor awaits them at the doorway to the garden, and she looks like she has bitten a lemon.

 

“My king.”

 

“Where is N’Jadaka?”

 

“He is inside. He has been bothering the priests who were attempting to care for the flower beds. We were- unsure, how to proceed. He is royalty, after all.”

 

“I will take care of it.”

 

“Do you want us to come along?” Nakia asks, while Shuri snickers. Okoye and Ayo still look like they would very much like to wake up now, please.

 

“Maybe it is best if I try to talk to him,” T’Challa says.

 

Yes, that feels right. It is a relief to have the panther’s instincts back in his heart, to guide him.

 

He walks along the stone path into the heart shaped herb’s sanctuary. The soft purple glow and the flickering light of the torches change the space around him. He feels the call of the endless grasslands here, and he smiles. Someone watches him.

 

“N’Jadaka! I never yielded. And as you can see, I am not dead.”

 

Something hisses, somewhere above his head, but when T’Challa turns, there’s nothing there.

 

“If you want to continue the challenge, you will have to come out.”

 

There is a- well, a snarl, for lack of better word, except that it is much higher in pitch than T’Challa expected. Something soft hits his head, but T’Challa doesn’t budge from the impact. He tilts his head forward, and instinctively catches the mewling ball of fur that falls into his arms.

 

Prince N’Jadaka, Erik “Killmonger” Stevens, is a leopard cub. It’s him alright, T’Challa recognizes his eyes, and the glare.

 

“Your paws are tiny.”

 

N’Jadaka tries to scratch him, but his legs are not long enough, and T’Challa finds himself smiling, despite himself.

 

“Now, cousin, what am I supposed to make of this, hmm? You can’t challenge me for the throne like that. You are too small.”

 

He gets an indignant little snarl in response, and N’Jadaka wiggles in his grip, tries to escape T’Challa’s arms. T’Challa holds him firmly to his chest, though, grateful for the sturdy fabric of his robe.

 

“Come now, you have bothered the priests here long enough. Let’s take you somewhere where we can figure out what happened, eh?”

 

N’Jadaka yowls as T’Challa carries him out of the sanctuary, but the sound is laughed down by Shuri, who has tears in her eyes as she holds her stomach, wheezing.

 

“Shuri, please. This is a sacred place,” T’Challa tries for stern, but misses the mark by a mile. It may have something to do with the way N’Jadaka is baring his tiny fangs at everyone.

 

They leave the City of the Dead and head for Shuri’s lab. When T’Challa tries to put N’Jadaka down onto the lab table for a scan, the leopard cub doesn’t let go. With a yowl, he hooks his claws into the arms of T’Challa’s robe as best as he can.

 

“Leave it. I can do the scans with you attached.”

 

“His paws look very small,” Nakia points out with a friendly smile. She extends her hand carefully towards N’Jadaka, and gets snapped at for her trouble.

 

“There’s no need to be rude to a lady, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa admonishes. Unfortunately, this time his own thumb is well within range, and he yelps as needle-sharp teeth pierce his skin.

 

“I don’t think he likes it when you call him that,” Nakia points out. “Should we call you Erik, my Prince?”

 

N’Jadaka- or, well, Erik the leopard cub mewls in response, lets go of T’Challa’s hand, pads into Nakia’s lap, and glares.

 

“This is unreal. Bast help me, I think I am losing my mind,” Okoye mutters.

 

“Hold still for a moment, cousin,” Shuri orders, and waves a scanner over Erik’s body. Erik tries to catch it with his paws, and T’Challa tries to stop the unmanly noise that escapes him.

 

“Well, he’s as healthy as a leopard cub can be.” Shuri announces. With gentle determination, she holds down Erik’s side, and presses a device into the side of his gluteal muscle. Erik yowls, and Shuri makes an actual shushing noise.

 

“There, _ikatana_. You need your shots, cousin. Leopard cubs get sick very easily.”

 

“Thank you, Shuri.”

 

“My King,” Okoye speaks up.

 

She sends a dubious look at the ball of fur that is now curled up in Nakia’s arms. Erik doesn’t even bother to pretend that he is mad at the little scratches Nakia skillfully administers behind his ears.

 

“What will we do with- the Prince now?”

 

“I have been thinking about that,” T’Challa says, with consideration. “This transformation happened through the heart-shaped herb. Since we have no better explanation, we must assume it is the will of Bast, and our ancestors.”

 

“Where will we keep him?” Okoye asks.

 

“Since he is a member of the royal family, I believe the Palace should do,” T’Challa says. “He can stay in my rooms for now.”

 

And so it happens.

 

The Golden Tribe’s housekeeper barely manages to keep a straight face when she receives T’Challa’s instructions for a litterbox, to be placed in the second adjacent bathroom. Erik pointedly ignores the fresh meat in the vibranium bowl on the floor, and instead steals the best bits from T’Challa’s and Shuri’s plates. They indulge him, probably more than they should.

 

In the beginning, T’Challa tries to keep track of his cousin at all times, but very quickly that becomes impossible. Erik ditches the Kimoyo collar Shuri made for him more often than not, and chipping him without his consent is not something T’Challa wants to consider. The palace staff quickly get used to the cub exploring the enormous building and the gardens. It seems that Erik makes friends more easily in this form.

 

T’Challa drops in on his mother’s afternoon tea with the Elders of the Merchant and Mining Tribes and finds Erik, wandering from one lap to the next to receive his due pettings. The Palace’s daycare calls him, because the prince snuck in during nap time and started a game of tag with the children. Lulama, T’Challa’s personal assistant, tells him about Erik’s ongoing feud with the head cook, which amuses the entire palace kitchen. T’Challa has yet to receive any official complaint from them.

 

At night, for some reason that T’Challa can’t fathom, Erik always returns to T’Challa’s rooms. He sleeps on the couch in T’Challa’s living room, high on the cupboards, on the windowsills and shelves. On one memorable occasion, T’Challa has to call the housekeeper to have a ladder delivered, because Erik somehow managed to climb into a lamp and got stuck there, mewling for help.

 

Some days, Shuri picks Erik up at breakfast and takes him to her lab.

 

“He likes it,” She claims nonchalantly, and Erik butts his head against her stomach for more pets, so he probably agrees.

 

T’Challa always makes a point to visit them during those days. Erik is usually perched on Shuri’s shoulder or her head, if her hairstyle allows it, and Shuri tells both of them about her designs. She almost electrocutes T’Challa with the newest variation of magnetic nanites. She also drenches Erik with an entire bottle of fire extinguisher foam. It results in Erik’s disgruntled leap towards the safety of T’Challa’s arms, while she snickers at both of them. And life goes on.

 

"Why do you think he got turned into a kitten?” W’Kabi asks T’Challa on his next visit. Things are still tense between them, but Klaue is dead one way or another, and they have come to a silent agreement, to try and forgive each other.

 

“He is not a kitten. He’s a leopard cub.”

 

“With tiny paws, yes,” W’Kabi says. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

 

T’Challa hesitates. “I think it was the will of the ancestors.”

 

“Yes, but to what end? What is Bast intending? Glory to her Name.”

 

“I am not sure. What do you think?”

 

“I think that she did not want N’Jadaka to wage war,” W’Kabi doesn’t meet T’Challa’s eyes. “And I think that you should use this chance that she has given you, to show your cousin our country’s greatness.”

 

“W’Kabi,” T’Challa catches his friend's shoulder, and W’Kabi finally looks up. “Where do you think we should start?”

 

And that is how Erik meets Okeke the rhino calf. It’s a bright sunny day, and half of the Border Tribe village’s children have assembled to watch.

 

“Go on my Prince. He is absolutely tame.”

 

Erik chirps, nervous, and sniffs the rhino’s snout carefully. Okeke in turn licks across Erik’s head, and with an indignant mewl, Erik jumps to hide under W’Kabi’s blanket. Okoye snorts, the children laugh, and Erik spends the rest of the day on W’Kabi’s shoulders, glaring at everyone.

 

 

One day, T’Challa is busy in his office when his kimoyo beads ping and Ayo appears.

 

“My King. The- Prince. Is here. And I think, he requests an audience?”

 

“Let him in,” T’Challa replies, eyebrows raised.

 

The door to his office opens and Erik struts into the room with a haughty meow, tail raised. He has grown a little in the month since he was transformed. But when he leaps onto T’Challa’s desk, walks straight across the stacks of paper, and hops down to settle in T’Challa’s lap, he still fits very comfortably.

 

“Hello, cousin. Would you like to see what I’m working on?”

 

Erik chirps in response and sits up to peer above the edge of T’Challa’s desk. Immediately, the fur of his neck is up in bristles.

 

“Yes, that is Oakland. I am currently in communication with the owner of the apartment block where you used to live.”

 

Erik hisses, and his claws dig into the fabric that covers T’Challa’s thighs.

 

“I am going to establish the first Wakandan International Outreach center there.”

 

Carefully, T’Challa sets a hand on Erik’s tense back, and gently smooths his soft fur.

 

“Nakia will oversee the social outreach, and Shuri the scientific exchange. Let me show you what else we have planned, hmm?”

 

Erik jumps up to sit on the edge of the desk, stiff, tail twitching agitated. T’Challa summons the presentation for the council that he is working on and starts to talk.

 

The next morning, he wakes up to find Erik asleep, rolled up on his chest. He purrs softly. T’Challa is thirty minutes late to his first appointment of the day.

 

After that, Erik claims approximately 75 % of T’Challa’s bed as his own. He spends a lot more time with T’Challa during the day as well, and T’Challa gets into the habit of briefing Erik on his schedule.

 

In the middle of the next council meeting, while Nakia speaks about the War Dogs’ funding, Erik the leopard cub pads into the circle of council seats.

 

“You have a runaway kitten,” M’Baku points out with a grin, as Nakia pauses, amused.

 

“Forgive me, my King, he just snuck in here…” Ayo hurries into the room. She’s actually out of breath. T’Challa must never let Erik know that he is impressed by that.

 

“Don’t worry, Ayo. Please continue, Nakia. Erik, come here…”

 

It’s too late. Erik has already climbed the fur of M’Baku’s robe and is right now making his bed in the Jabari Chief’s hood. M’Baku, for his part, looks on stoically, and if it weren’t for the tiniest twitch of the corner of his mouth T’Challa would buy it.

 

The meeting continues, and T’Challa suppresses a pang of jealousy when Erik climbs down into M’Baku’s lap and chirps until the Chief rolls his eyes and pets him.

 

“Your paws are tiny,” M’Baku tells the cub, and guffaws when Erik nips at his fingertips for it.

 

After the meeting, T’Challa approaches M’Baku with a smile.

 

“May I have my cousin back, M’Baku?”

 

“Eh, I don’t know yet. He’s very cute.”

 

Erik mewls in agreement, but he also leaps from M’Baku’s arms into T’Challa’s, so T’Challa is fine with it.

 

“When are you going to announce your plans to the rest of the world?” M’Baku asks, tone growing serious.

 

“There is a UN Conference in Vienna in one week. Our preparations are advanced enough to announce them now.”

 

“I don’t like it,” M’Baku crosses his arms. “Your father died in that city. They have proven before that they don’t take their security serious.”

 

“It will be fine. Okoye and my sister have done little else but scope out the city, the building, and their personnel for several months.”

 

“Be careful anyway, T’Challa.”

 

“I will.”

 

T’Challa smiles at M’Baku, but then Erik chatters loudly and wiggles in his arms to bury his soft face into T’Challa’s neck. T’Challa tries not to melt too obviously, but judging by M’Baku’s snort and the Mining Tribe Elder’s coos, it doesn’t work very well.

 

The days before they are set to leave for Vienna are hectic at best. Erik, who was helpful or at least passive in the preparations before, suddenly becomes the worst nuisance. He steals documents, he noses through portfolios of proposed additional guards and tears up those that he doesn’t like. Anytime T’Challa works on or practices his speech, he caterwauls at impressive volumes. It ends how it has to, and T’Challa locks him out of his office.

 

Roughly two hours after Protocol Kitten Lockdown has been imposed on all viable entrances to the royal office, T’Challa receives a message from the Dora Milaje’s palace quarters.

 

“My King.”

 

“Aneka. What is the matter?”

 

“Um.”

 

The Dora Milaje are trained from childhood not only to fight but to assume leadership, deal with crises, and adapt to all challenges. T'Challa has a sinking feeling about what made Aneka speechless, though.

 

“You might want to come down for this one,” she says.

 

“Is it Erik?”

 

She winces. T’Challa is already on his way.

 

The quarters of the Dora Milaje are very close to the Royal Apartments. They are furnished in a Spartan style way that still utilizes the most luxurious materials available. It is the place where most unmarried Dora live, and where all Dora Milaje stay while on active duty. Currently, there is a commotion in the common living area.

 

“Stop him!”

 

“Don’t harm the Prince!”

 

“Harm _him_? He bit me!”

 

“Get the necklace! The necklace!”

 

There is a blur of fur, something golden, and four women in Dora red in hot pursue. One of them is Okoye, whose General’s regalia Erik is dragging around the room. Erik is a leopard cub who very possibly still enjoys the enhancing effects of the heart shaped herb, while the Dora are all hesitant to hurt him. The room looks like a hurricane blew through it.

 

“What is going on here?” T’Challa asks, and is promptly ignored.

 

He follows Erik’s trajectory with his eyes, moves in, jumps over an upside-down table, and fishes Erik out of the air by the fur of his neck. Erik hisses and yowls, but he’s still small enough that T’Challa can hold him firm with one hand while with the other he gives Okoye her necklace back.

 

“I apologize for the inconvenience, General.”

 

“My King,” Okoye crosses her arms in salute, and the rest of the Dora follow suit. “I am sorry for disturbing your work.”

 

“Likewise, and I am sure Prince N’Jadaka is sorry as well,” T’Challa says and ignores the disagreeing hiss from the bristled bundle of fur in his arms. “If you will excuse me, I need to have a talk with my cousin.”

 

With all the dignity he can muster, he carries Erik out of the room, and pretends not to hear Okoye’s groan:

 

“Great Bast help me, this is ridiculous.”

 

Instead of going to the office, he brings Erik back to his own rooms, places him on his bed and sits down in front of him with crossed legs.

 

“What is wrong, cousin, hmm?”

 

Erik pads over three steps and he’s in T’Challa’s lap, and rubs his face against T’Challa’s stomach with a purr.

 

“Are you anxious about the outreach program?” T’Challa guesses, but the cub doesn’t change his behavior. “Or is it the conference?”

 

A tiny mewl, the purring stops, and Erik rubs himself against T’Challa’s chest with surprising strength.

 

“Eh, you don’t have to be scared for me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

 

T’Challa picks him up, and makes a point to look into Erik’s eyes. “It will be alright. I will come back, I promise you.”

 

Erik mewls again; he does not sound very reassured. T’Challa can’t help himself, he presses a kiss on the top of Erik’s head.

 

“You know you’re much too cute to break a promise to you.”

 

Erik lets out a high-pitched growl in response, and T’Challa chuckles.

 

“Yes, you are. You cannot deny your cuteness when you shamelessly use it to your advantage all the time. Don’t think I don’t know how the Palace’s cream consumption doubled within the last months.”

 

When the day comes, Erik watches the Talon depart from Ramonda’s arms with minimal fuss. Most of T’Challa’s updates from home should be serious council stuff, but are in fact video messages from the various people who are taking care of his cousin.

 

The conference goes off without a hitch and when T’Challa comes back, the ramp has barely descended before a blur of fur lands in his arms. Even Okoye cannot help her smile.

 

The next morning, T’Challa wakes very slowly. Something is different; Erik’s weight on his chest is broader and heavier than usual. Dreadlocks tickle his neck, and when T’Challa opens his eyes, he finds Erik’s human ones looking back, golden-brown in the morning sun.

 

“Hey cuz.”

 

“Hello.”

 

That’s when he realizes Erik is naked.

 

“We should probably talk about your plan for world domination.”

 

“Yeah,” Erik says, leans in and kisses him.

 

T’Challa can’t say he is surprised, not truly, and he can’t help but respond in kind. Erik’s lips are soft and warm against his own. T’Challa moves his hands up Erik’s sides, feels the bumps of his scars, the movement of his cousin’s breath. Erik breaks the kiss to bite at T’Challa’s lower lip, and T’Challa twists them around to pin Erik to the mattress.

 

“I was serious, you know.”

 

“Sorry, been waiting a while for this,” Erik smirks, and rolls his hips against T’Challa’s without hesitation, and _Bast_ , T’Challa wishes he could just give in to him like this.

 

“By the way, I yield,” Erik’s hand is on the back of T’Challa’s neck, and he pulls him down into another kiss, more urgent this time, hungry. “For now at least.”

 

“For now, eh?”

 

“You screw this up, don’t think I won’t beat your ass again.”

 

“I’ll remember it,” T’Challa grins into the crook of Erik’s neck. “I think this will turn out just fine.”

 

It does, except for one tiny hiccup that very afternoon, when Shuri starts laughing uncontrollably.

 

“What is it now?”

 

“Oh Bast, his paws were so small because his hands are _tiny_!”

 

“‘ey, watch it, Princess. My hands are totally normal. T’Challa, say something.”

 

“… We should talk about the outreach center in Busan.”

 

“That’s it, I’m challenging all of you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hands up_ if you enjoyed that one ^^


End file.
